Amanderella and the Marduk Affair Chapter 10.

Chapter Ten.

 

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Word travelled faster than the rescue party. By the time they reached the edge of Pentegfawr, a small knot of villagers had gathered, whispering and craning their necks. Someone must have run ahead, because Dr Vaughn was already waiting outside his surgery, pipe glowing like a tiny lighthouse in the dusk.

He stood with his hands behind his back, the stem of the pipe clenched between his teeth, sending up a steady ribbon of fragrant smoke. His expression was one of mild interest, as though a man being hauled out of a collapsed cave were no more unusual than a sprained ankle.

“Evening,” he said, as the miners guided Marduk towards him. “I hear you’ve been playing sardines with the hillside.”

Marduk attempted a smile. “Something like that, sir.”

Dr Vaughn nodded once, as if this confirmed a long‑held suspicion. “Right. Let’s get you inside before you fall over. Bryn, Ianto, steady him. Lady Gottsnobbler, Dotty, you can come too if you’re of a mind.”

He tapped his pipe against his hand, scattering ash onto the cobbles, and pushed open the surgery door with the air of a man about to deal with something entirely routine.

“Leg trapped, was it?” he said, ushering them in. “We’ll have a look. Nothing that can’t be sorted with a bit of common sense and a poultice.”

Dotty hovered anxiously at Marduk’s elbow. Amanderella followed with quiet authority. The miners exchanged a look that said the patient was in safe hands.

Inside, the surgery smelled of pipe smoke, antiseptic, and the faintest hint of camphor.

Dr Vaughn finished his examination with a grunt of approval, pipe smoke curling around his head like a small personal weather system. “Nothing broken,” he declared. “Bruised, battered, and daft as a brush, but he’ll mend. Keep the leg up, drink plenty of water, and don’t go crawling into any more caves unless invited.”

He shuffled off to fetch a bandage, leaving Marduk perched on the edge of the couch, pale and thinner but unmistakably himself.

Dotty twisted her fingers together. “What on earth were you thinking of, going off like that?”

Marduk looked at his boots. “I only went,” he said quietly, “because you told me to do something. Something to stop me being… overlooked.”

Dotty stared at him, her mouth falling open. “Overlooked? You great, ridiculous man. I notice you. I’ve always noticed you. And I intend noticing you for the rest of your life, whether you like it or not.”

The words burst out before she realised she was saying them.

Then she spun round and fled, tripping over her own feet in her hurry to escape.

Marduk blinked after her, stunned.

Amanderella, who had watched the whole thing with the calm of a woman who had seen it all before, simply said, “Well. That should give you something to think about while you rest.”

Dotty did not stop running until she reached the Library. She fumbled with the key, slipped inside, and shut the door behind her with a thud that made the nearest shelf tremble. The familiar smell of paper and polish wrapped around her like a blanket.

She pressed her back to the door, face burning.

“I intend noticing you for the rest of your life…”

What had she been thinking?

She buried her face in her hands.

A few minutes later, the door rattled gently.

“Dotty?” came Amanderella’s voice, calm, composed, entirely unflustered. “May we come in?”

Dotty hesitated, then unlocked the door.

Amanderella stepped inside first, followed by Marduk, leaning on a walking stick Dr Vaughn had produced from some mysterious cupboard of relics. He looked steadier now, though still pale, and he kept his eyes fixed somewhere around Dotty’s elbow.

And then the rest of Pentegfawr arrived.

Mrs Llewellyn (“purely to make sure the young man’s all right”), Mr Evans from the Post Office, Dai Pugh in full uniform, and what felt like the entire village in a slow, unstoppable tide.

The Library filled shoulder‑to‑shoulder. Every chair was taken. People stood between the stacks. Someone had climbed onto the step‑stool in Local History for a better view.

Amanderella surveyed the crowd with a raised eyebrow. “I see the village has taken an interest.”

“They said it was treasure,” Mrs Llewellyn whispered loudly.

“I thought,” Amanderella said, “that this would be the safest place to examine the contents of the rucksack.”

Dotty swallowed. “Yes. Yes, of course. It’s on my desk.”

The rucksack sat exactly where she had placed it, looking far too ordinary for something that had caused so much trouble.

Marduk approached it slowly. “Thank you for keeping it safe,” he said, still not quite meeting Dotty’s eyes.

Amanderella folded her arms. “You told me not to open it until you were rescued. You are now rescued. Shall we?”

Marduk nodded, fingers trembling slightly as he loosened the straps.

Dotty held her breath.

Amanderella leaned in, curious but composed.

The rucksack opened with a soft, dusty sigh.

Inside lay a parcel of lime‑encrusted metal, book‑sized and far heavier than it had any right to be. The crust was pale and rough, like something dredged from the bottom of a forgotten well.

A collective gasp rippled through the room.

Mrs Llewellyn clutched her handbag. “Oh, that’s ancient, that is.”

Mr Evans muttered, “Looks valuable.”

Old Ianto peered over three heads. “Looks cursed.”

Amanderella ignored them all. “Marduk,” she said quietly, “what exactly have you brought us?”

He lifted the object with both hands. Dust flaked away.

“It’s old,” he said. “Very old. And someone hid it for a reason.”

Dotty swallowed. “What is it?”

Marduk hesitated, not dramatically, but with the weight of someone who knows the answer will change things.

Then he said, softly but clearly enough for the whole room to hear:

“The valuable item that Father Gwyllim ap Gwyllim ap Gwyllim saved from the Vikings.”

Dotty leaned in, eyes wide. “Oh… my goodness.”

Amanderella tilted her head, assessing it with calm precision.

“But what is it?” demanded Mrs Llewellyn, now practically nose‑to‑nose with the desk.

Amanderella touched the lime‑encrusted surface. “It appears to be something sealed inside a metal casing.”

She straightened. “Right. Before anyone faints, touches it, licks it, or tries to value it on the spot, we are going to proceed carefully.”

Half the room looked disappointed.

Dotty, still pink from her earlier confession, stood very still beside Marduk, her eyes bright with fierce pride.

Amanderella slipped on a pair of thin cotton gloves from her handbag, the sort of thing only she would think to carry, and examined the lead casing.

“This was wrapped deliberately,” she murmured. “To protect it. And to hide it.”

The villagers leaned in again.

Amanderella looked up sharply. “If anyone breathes on my neck, I shall remove them.”

The crowd froze.

With slow, careful movements, she eased away the first brittle fold of lead.

The crackle of ancient metal sounded like thunder.

At last, the final strip peeled away.

A breath seemed to move through the room.

Inside the lead casing lay a small book, its leather darkened by age, its edges stiff with centuries of lime and damp. The clasp, though tarnished, was unmistakably shaped like a tiny Celtic knot.

Dotty pressed her fingers to her lips. “Oh… my goodness.”

Mrs Llewellyn clutched her handbag. “It’s holy.”

Mr Evans muttered, “Worth a fortune.”

Old Ianto shook his head. “Still say cursed.”

Dai Pugh attempted to blow his whistle for order, but someone elbowed him and it came out as a feeble squeak.

Amanderella ignored them all. She leaned closer, her expression sharpening.

“It’s a psalter,” she said quietly. “A very old one. Possibly early medieval. The lead wrapping was to protect it from damp, and from discovery.”

The villagers murmured.

She touched the clasp lightly. “This knotwork is pre‑Norman. Ninth century, perhaps. And the leather… made by someone who expected it to last.”

Marduk swallowed. “Father Gwyllim wrote that he hid it from the Vikings.”

“And he succeeded,” Amanderella said. “And you, Marduk, have just undone a thousand years of secrecy.”

A ripple of awe ran through the room.

Dotty looked from the psalter to Marduk, her eyes glistening. “It’s beautiful.”

Amanderella straightened. “No one touches it. No one breathes on it. And no one,” she added, fixing Mrs Llewellyn with a look, “tries to clean it with vinegar.”

Mrs Llewellyn sniffed. “I was only going to dab.”

“You will dab nothing.”

The villagers subsided, chastened but buzzing.

Amanderella began shepherding them out with polite firmness. One by one they drifted away until only the three of them remained.

Dotty stood very still beside the desk. Marduk leaned on his stick, pale but steady. The psalter rested between them like a small, ancient heartbeat.

He cleared his throat. “Dotty… about what you said earlier—”

She went scarlet. “Please don’t. I didn’t mean to—well, I did, but I didn’t mean to say it out loud.”

Marduk looked at his boots, then at her, then at the psalter, as if drawing courage from all three. “I’m glad you did.”

Dotty blinked. “You are?”

He nodded, slow and earnest. “I’ve spent most of my life feeling… unnoticed. But you saw me. You always have. And I—” He hesitated. “I’d like to be noticed by you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Dotty’s breath caught. “Oh.”

Amanderella, who had been pretending to examine the clasp, closed the psalter gently. “Well,” she said, “that’s quite enough excitement for one day.”

Dotty and Marduk both laughed, soft, relieved, a little shaky.

Outside, the village was already gathering again, ready to erupt into a century’s worth of gossip.

Inside, the Library felt warm and still.

Amanderella straightened. “Come along, you two. Let’s get him home before the entire population of Pentegfawr decides to form a committee.”

Dotty slipped her arm through Marduk’s.

He didn’t look at his boots this time.